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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592003">They Say Blood Will Have Blood</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerAndHyde/pseuds/GingerAndHyde'>GingerAndHyde</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dracula &amp; Related Fandoms, Dracula - Bram Stoker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(what else would you expect in a fic about renfield), Backstory, Descent into Madness, Gen, Macbeth reference, Mental Illness, You get brownie points if you know the scene that the title is taken from!, because I nerd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:40:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,572</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24592003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerAndHyde/pseuds/GingerAndHyde</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>R.M. Renfield wasn’t always this way. Five recollections summarize his descent into madness and entrance into Dracula’s servitude.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>They Say Blood Will Have Blood</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I first wrote this in one sitting and plopped it onto a goth lit Discord, because what else am I meant to do when I’m handed a character who is basically just a plot device with legs and with no canonical backstory? Sit there and *not* write about him? Pfft, nah. </p><p>Should I probably write more of my Jekyll and Hyde fics? Yep. Has Dracula been the only thing in my brain for the past two months? Also yep. </p><p>Behold! Something that barely qualifies as a fic!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">——————</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">
    
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">21 August, 1857</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dear journal,</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jasper and I celebrated my twenty-sixth birthday today. We would have done so on the day itself had he not been away at the coast for his health. He can no longer take such vigorous exercise as he once did, so riding through the pine forest was out of the question. Rather, we went on a walk through his garden (his father’s estate is so large; we barely covered half of it) before going inside to talk and sup. I missed him during that month he was away, and evidently, the feeling was mutual: he has dedicated his new novel in my name! </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">We discussed theology and a multitude of other topics. He, being atheistic, believes that there is no such thing as an afterlife, let alone a human soul. I begged to differ, arguing that the spark of life that animates us- the unique imprint of each existence and personality- can be qualified as a soul; something that can be corrupted or elevated, degraded or liberated, and tarnished by sin. He argued that this was simply the workings of the brain, to which I countered that there is much more to a human mind than the base chemical reactions that preserve the thought and body. He capitulated to my idea, though reluctantly. When we turned to the topic of an afterlife, however, I was forced to concede that evidence is fragile at best. One must, however, have faith- the Lord promises us that we shall continue after death. I confess, however, that his arguments left me shaken. What if- dare I put such blasphemous ideas to paper?- what if the soul is a cruel reality, left entrapped in a decaying body, and this plane of existence is all that we have? What if nothing waits for us in the great beyond other than endless night? What if eternal life is naught but illusion?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nay, I must lay these worries to rest. It is almost time for sleep, and I shall never be able to reach that blissful void if my mind is racing with these ideas. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Post-script: I must state how the topic of souls came at hand. While in the rose garden, Jasper asked me why marriage between two men is looked down upon by so many. I responded, of course, that it was a sin, one that would damn a soul. He looked so dejected at this! I admit that it does not make much sense to me, either, as I have oft wondered the same. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">——————</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">9 July, 1859</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">My dear Jasper, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As my previous letter, the one sent only a day ago, included all information actually relevant to my life, this one shall only be an expression of my emotions. I must write to someone of this, and who better to turn to than such a close companion? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I feel an increasing turbulence within me. A darkness of sorts. I dwell on thoughts and questions better left unaddressed, and I find it increasingly difficult to eat and sleep. I am paralyzed with a mindless fear in the evening hours and tormented by a distant hollowness when I wake. And I have had the strangest reoccurring dreams! A tall, thin man comes to me. We talk for hours and hours and I cannot remember a thing of it. He is comforting in a strange sort of way. This is why I do not call them <em>nightmares</em>, for, though he intimidates me, it only makes me more curious to know who he is.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Forgive my ramblings on such nonsensical things as dreams. My mind grows scattered these days. These are a thousand thoughts racing through it or none- no intermediate. Even when I feel grounded and stable, I am tormented by horrible ideas that I dare not list here, for fear that you shall scorn me. I gnaw at my nails and skin, I pace the house relentlessly, and I find myself thinking and sometimes verbally repeating phrases end on end. I have tried my best to draw comfort from scripture, which you know I still study, yet every line becomes twisted and perverse when ran through my mind. My poems- what little I still write- are transfixed on themes of blood and death. I grow convinced that this life was not made for me. I am an educated man with companions and a future that should be bright and boundless, yet I cannot shake the feeling that it shall all come crashing to an abrupt end. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I apologize for burdening you with the writings of a cursed soul. You may burn this letter if you so desire, which I would understand completely. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">
    
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Farewell, and I hope that your lot is happier than mine!- Your companion, Remus Marlowe Renfield</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">——————</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <em>Renfield walks on a garden path alongside a tall, dark-haired gentleman. It feels as if this memory took place years after the journal entry- Remus feels older, more knowledgeable, and yet less stable. More uncertain. More disorganized. The man beside him is the opposite of these qualities- poised and confident-looking. However, a certain sickliness colors the gentleman’s complexion. His cheeks are hollow and pale, his hair is threaded with premature white, and a folded handkerchief is clutched in a hand to stifle frequent coughs. It is spotted with blood.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“Thank you for joining me, Remus,” says the gentleman. “I rarely go out-of-doors these days. Bed rest has become my daily routine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">”Well,” the smaller man responds, gesturing to the surrounding garden, “I believed that a little fresh air could do those lungs of yours some good.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">”A well-founded belief,” the gentleman says with a laugh that devolves into a cough. “I’m fine,” he reassures, pressing the kerchief to his lips.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“Are you alright?”, Remus asks nonetheless, placing a hand on his companion’s back. The gentleman is quiet.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“....I am fine.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are <em>you?</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <em>The gentleman straightens his cravat, attempting composure. “I...Renfield?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">His brow furrows. “Yes?” Since when were we returning to the use of surnames? </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">The gentleman clears his throat. “You are aware that the disease is...Not cureable.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“Not that we know of yet!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“Not at all.” The gentleman falls silent.“I am hosting a dinner party in two months. It will be...A goodbye, of sorts.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Remus’s mouth goes dry. “What do you mean?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“The disease is terminal. I would rather my friends remember me as a healthy, upstanding man than an invalid.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">He shakes his head. “No. No, you’re not going to die. What are you talking about?” The ground seems to wobble.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">The gentleman stares at him fixedly. “I am. I have accepted this. Death is an inevitability. It is time that you reached that same conclusion.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“No! I- I cannot lose you! Either you shall live, or we shall meet again in the next life!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“There is no next life.” The gentleman’s voice is hard, yet his eyes are clearly filled with warmth. “We only have this one. As I have told you before.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“I refuse to believe it.” And yet...And yet the fear is still there. What if he is right? What if this is all they have?</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">“You will. I shall see you at the dinner party?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">He nods numbly. “Of course. Take care, Jasper.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">——————</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">3 October, 1861</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dear journal, </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I have much to share. Much of it is of a horrifying nature, while the rest of it is discovery that may elevate me to a higher platform of existence. Should any hapless readers stumble across these passages in the future, now is the point at which they should cast this awful book aside!</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thin man was in my dreams again. I dreamt that he came to me through a window- I rose from my bed and unlocked it for him, welcoming him in like an old friend. He placed his hands on my shoulders (they were cold as ice!) and told me all sorts of revolting things, but I could not look away nor seem to stop listening. He told me that he would come for me one day, years in the future, and save me. “From what?”, I had asked. “From death”, he had said- so quietly and gently that it felt like some horrible confession! </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At last I awoke. Little did I know that my waking world would yield worse terrors- and yet blessings. I found myself dogged by horrible fears all day long, jumping at the slightest of sounds. I was unable to even touch my meals. Then, this evening, the queerest sensation came over me. I felt stronger, lighter, and yet, a sensation in my veins told me that it would not last. As I sat writing the very same essay that is to be published next Wednesday, scribbling away like a maniac, a spider came crawling across my pages. I felt that the key to preserving this strength, this newfound life, lay in the arachnid. I was seized with a wild urge to snatch it- to consume it. And, in a moment of weakness, I <em>did!</em> And a satisfaction rushed over me for a moment, before being replaced by a need for <em>more</em>. More life. More strength! In this fleeting moment, I was reminded of a scriptural verse: “For the blood is the life”. In the original context, it <em>forbade</em> the consumption of blood and living things, but in the moment, it was an ecstatic revelation! I felt like Eve with the apple, tasting the forbidden to unlock boundless new knowledge. This moment passed over me quickly, yet I am still in the grips of this maniacal excitability. I write so quickly that my pen is but a blur passing over the page. In the morning, I shall replicate this experiment to explore whether this life-giving property is present in all living things. Tomorrow, I plan for a cricket. I shall go out walking to-night before I rest; for I am on the brink of ecstasy!</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">———————</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Remus Marlowe Renfield sits at a crowded dining room table, surrounded by people. The air is thick and heavy and warm. Everyone is far too loud. Their voices echo in his ears. He hasn’t touched any of the food on his plate. All of the blood has been cooked out of the roast, and where is the usefulness in that? He must wait to get home, where he has trapped and contained a mouse. That will sustain him. Masquerading as a gentleman with reason has become routine. Madness lies in his eyes, a hollowness sits in his gut, fears gnaw at his chest. But so long as his hair is combed and his clothes hide his starved frame, what does that matter? He can keep up a charade. The Master has told him to wait, and wait he will; he will wait for decades to be freed from this painful existence, one that is naught but a road to inevitable death and ruin. He ruminates on these thoughts, attempting to shut out the chatter of the others.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Across the table sits a dying man. Jasper has withered away to nearly nothing. Every breath carries within it the notes of a wheeze. When he smiles, the skin is pulled taught around his flesh. It pains him to see it, somehow, to watch the man he had been closest to decay and become a dead man walking. However, this pain was numbed by promises.</em> Wait, <em>the Master has said</em>, Wait and I will free you from the curse of death. You may feed off of the small living things, but you must wait to stand by my side. <em>The Master was perfect and powerful and strong. He would live forever, and Renfield would be at his right hand, always. This was the thought that allowed him patience. This was a promise of </em>true<em> heaven. True life after life.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <em>”Renfield,” says Jasper, looking at him with a furrowed brow. “You haven’t eaten. Are you alright?”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">”I am perfectly fine! I have dined earlier, and do not sup. You need not worry for me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">Jasper nodded easily, his skin shining pale in the lamplight. The voices of the others mingle and coalesce into an intolerably loud, senseless noise. It is not like this with the Master at all. The Master speaks quietly in a deep voice that seems to resonate within Remus’s chest, dispersing agonies and fears that settle there in the day. The Master says he will be good to Renfield. The Master says that those who are loyal will live with him forever. The Master says he never breaks a promise.</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <em>Suddenly, Jasper falls into a coughing fit. The table falls silent. They all know that they dine with a dying man. Jasper presses a handkerchief to his lips. It comes away stained, saturated with a sticky red liquid.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <strong>
      <em>Blood.</em>
    </strong>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s1">His heart seems to skip a beat. He smells it, the dark crimson color seems to seep into the edges of his vision, and he needs it so, so badly. He needs to taste it, to absorb the life left in the dying man, to incorporate Jasper’s blood into his own. But the blood on the kerchief will not be enough! There is blood enough in the dying man yet- why, he’s coughing it up, choking on it, drowning in it, even! And it stains his lips scarlet. Oh, to taste those bloodied lips, to drain the life from them, to make a bid for immortality like Faustus as he had conjured Helen! To tear open that throat and drink the dying man’s lifeblood! </span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <em>Before he even knows what he was doing, he has taken a silver steak knife in hand.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <em>Voices around the table are crying out to him as he leaps atop it, eyes locked on that bloodied face. Jasper had flung himself backwards and was looking at his friend, now attacker, in horror. Hands wrapped around Renfield’s wrists and ankles, tearing him backwards, but he persisted and fought with a strength not expected from such a fragile-looking man. A pair of hands took him by the throat as the knife was wrested away from his him. The hands around his throat squeeze tighter and tighter until he cannot breathe. Spots now swim in his vision, but his eyes are transfixed on Jasper.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <span class="Apple-converted-space">   </span>
    <em>“You are my Banquo!”, he screams in a raspy voice through choking breaths, “An omen of death, an old friend come risen to haunt me!” He claws at the hands holding him, tearing at them until blood shines beneath his fingernails, which he brings to his gasping mouth to lick clean. Screams and shouts of horror still ring from all sides of him. His glasses are smacked from his face and fly to the floor, leaving his vision blurry. It’s going dark, anyhow.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    
    <em>He is finally torn from the table, held by his arms, which are twisted painfully behind his back. His hair hangs messily in his eyes, which contain a dangerously wild gleam. His forehead glistens with sweat. The glasses were crushed underfoot by a partygoer who had ran to get help. He is dragged away, screaming, pulled away from the room filled with staring eyes and angry shouting. The last thing he sees is Jasper’s horror-stricken face as he is hauled from the house and brought into the cold night air. He is flung into a carriage with no one else in it and the door is slammed behind him.</em>
  </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So. That was that, and that’s that on that. Renfield then spent over. 20 years bouncing from institution to institution until he landed under Seward’s care, and we all know how the story goes from there.</p><p>ADDENDUM: There is a far longer version (almost 8,100 words) with cut passages, more Drac scenes, greater detail, and an epilogue posted to my tumblr (also @gingerandhyde). I am relocating all further writing to there!</p><p>ADDENDUM PART TWO: Ok I have the willpower of an ant. I’m going to be posting the full version on here. I’m keeping this version up to show the changes that have been made (all of my stories are sort of in perpetual evolution, as I reread and realize where I can do better), so. Yeah!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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